


Never Never in the Valley of Unseen

by eoKingdomDom



Category: Besstrashny Plamyah, Original Work
Genre: Alien Biology, Aliens, Depeche Mode gonna come at me with a copyright case, Exhibitionism, First time fucking in a forest, Gratuitous Smut, Other, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romanticism, Science Fiction, Sexual Frustration, Song references, Teasing, Ya know... the usual, You're Welcome, alien world, self-indulgent references to my poems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26413399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eoKingdomDom/pseuds/eoKingdomDom
Summary: "You said a while back you liked the idea of doing things outside the house."Yeah, I'm sure we can all see where this is going.
Relationships: Dactory/Damselfly (Besstrashny Plamyah)
Collections: Besstrashny Plamyah





	Never Never in the Valley of Unseen

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! You should probably read this first. These characters are ALIENS. They live on a different world and have some biological differences to us. And you'll need to know those before reading, ya know, to avoid a mind-fuck (I mean, unless you like that).
> 
> These characters are of an alien species called Strutters and are native to a place called Besstrashny Plamyah (Plamyah for short). This planet has five habitable moons. Dactory and Damselfly live on moon Gamma, and can see Plamyah in the nightsky much as we can see our own moon. Also, a Mastermind is an entrepeneur, a pretty top-tier member of society. 
> 
> Anyway, onto biology:
> 
> Strutters are what I would so eloquently describe as "upright coelophysis dressed in colours you'd prefer to decorate your grave with."
> 
> Here's a post for visuals: https://complete-spanner.tumblr.com/post/186712481180/strutters-plamyahs-bipedal-dominant
> 
> The post explains them well on a general level, but for some more sexual facts: their eye streamers are erogenous zones and the genitals... yeah. These are four jet-black slits, two on each side of their waist. Within is a pocket of space what can fit pretty much the entire forearm inside, this is their idea of penetration. Pretty hardcore right? Anyway, these slits also secrete a white liquid which they call liqueur, and that we may aswell call cum. It acts as a lubricant and has genetic material. Anyway, all the rest is pretty similar to us. They fuck and are capable of orgasm, so yeah, it's workable. 
> 
> Also the fic title was totally inspired by the Alternative Radio's Valley of Evergreen. It's a great song! Darn shame that this is what I took from it...
> 
> Contextual shite aside, enjoy the show!

The trees reach out, hanging in a predatorial loom, leaves dangling from their crooked teeth. Stars play the glitter that takes forever to notice, interspersing between the fangs of the tree branches. The bite from the air is torturously cold and ruthlessly whips up a storm of goosebumps on Dactory’s skin. Everywhere they look is losing colour as the night crawls upon the dying body of the day. They don’t want to be here. It’s too dark. But their partner has them by the arm and has been power-walking them down lanes and across roads to find the mouth of this particular forest. They never bothered to object, presuming the reason was completely logical. But with every frantic step into the woods of sinister, Dactory is becoming increasingly more confused. Confused and somewhat frightened.

"Damselfly?" their speech chitters with the chill.

"Yes?" The hand around their arm loosens slightly, growing gentle.

"Where are we going?"

Damselfly turns to them, streamers shaking from the cold. Her breath comes out in puffs of ethereal fog. Dactory scuttles close, unable to withstand the air around them with such light attire. They question why they didn't put on some leather. But in their defense, they weren't particularly expecting to be dragged into a forest at nightfall. The trees around them are black and licked against the prussian blue of the sky. The wind is soft, but it still makes the leaves rustle above them. All is silent beyond that. In Dactory’s opinion, nothing about a lull at night is peaceful, it screams a danger that they can’t quite decipher. It’s one of those prospects that they’ll never really see until it’s too late. The concept terrifies them.

"Somewhere we can be alone," Damselfly whispers, massaging a circular pattern into their arm. The motion, however, doesn't put them at ease. In fairness, it comforts enough to dampen the crackle of their paranoia, but instead replaces it with an entirely new form of alarm. See, a lesson they've been learning about their partner is that being "alone" often results in trouble. Often the undertaking of a deed _far_ from decency. It's not necessarily without its tantalising perks. But it never fails to startle them.

"I have a perfectly adequate bedroom for that," Dactory tries to fight the shudder in their voice, "What possessed you to take me out here?"

Detecting her partner's discomfort, Damselfly wraps her arms around them. The hug is relieving, because let's face it, Dactory was close to catching their death of cold out here, plus the sense of security is unendingly helpful. She presses closer, becoming just slightly possessive with her behaviour.

"Your parents're in. It's not the same," she begins to spread her fingers across the back of their neck, "I wanted us to be _completely_ alone."

"What for?" I mean, Dactory is already making guesses, and none of them at all imply innocence. The flurry of sordid thoughts and heated scenarios is eliciting an almost tangible feeling from within them, it makes their skin prickle with unbearable sensitivity. When Damselfly's fingers start to stroke through the neck feathers, their spine lights up with sensation. She replies with a gaze that seems to shut off the rest of the world, just for a moment.

Her eyes glimmer in the last strains of light. Embedded deep within the crystalline blue is a calm. A contentment that dramatises her love for the creature before her. Dactory reads it and soaks in it, allowing themself to feel appreciated by the eyes that watch them. They lean into her affections, purring pleasure at the hand that feeds them. In an attempt to appease, they drape arms around her neck, pleading for the serene sanctuary held in her watchful eyes. She smiles, and the ground shifts to mantle that spits at their knees. Her grip tightens as they drop somewhere between flight and fall into her arms.

“Darling.”

Her voice is warm yet fragile in its own effeminate fashion, and Dactory can’t beg any harder for it. It takes them far too long to realise that she’s trying to walk in circles. Their feet had been so incoherent in their pattering slipstream that nothing even registered as steps. Giggling softly, she leans back and in a heave picks Dactory up, twirling them around. They both laugh, exhilarated and frankly barely able to see where they’re going. The bush makes an uncomfortably swift approach and they both topple into it. Good thing it was neither nettle or bramble, that would’ve killed probably more than the mood.

No, just some knotweed. The branches barely scathe them, lucky fuckers. Damselfly quickly gathers herself out of the brush, unwilling to have her clothes compromised. Dactory just continues to laugh as the leaves brush over their neck, arms outstretched to demand assistance. Groaning ever-so-slightly, Damselfly reaches down and hauls her partner to a standing, she immediately checks them for rogue leaves or God-forsaken insects. Once thoroughly certain Dactory isn’t harbouring any aphids, she hugs them once more. She’s met with lips on hers.

And she can’t lie, Dactory has a way with drawn-out attention to her mouth. They seem to take their time in ensuring she can feel every languid slide of their tongue for minutes after. Inside, Dactory plays a game nothing short of teasing. All taste, all touch, all cynical. However, Damselfly knows where she stands, and it’s alpha bitch territory. And she’s starting to learn of ways to make her lover touch the stars with no shuttle. It’s not all that hard, really. Dactory will even admit themself that they’re terribly quick to please, often spoken with the tremble of embarrassment. But Damselfly sees no shame in it. In her eyes, being so sensitive must feel like bliss, everything must feel like God’s fucking gift. She’ll be the first to admit her jealousy of such a blessing. Yet, there’s something else, about her partner, something that could quite easily turn such orgasmic prowess into a curse.

That’s to say, Dactory is an exhibitionist.

She can recall in detail how the discovery of such an embedded secret came to be. Honestly, she couldn’t forget it. They had wrapped themself in nearly all of her blankets in some kind of feeble attempt to protect themself, with liquor dancing through their body so pressingly they could barely speak. Words came out with pauses thrice as long, a bit like my french oral. You know, the day I called myself a sandwich in a language I couldn’t even tell people I can’t speak in. Well apparently heavy drink makes you forget your native tongue too, and this was no exception for Dactory. More than that, it was making them forget about that little thing called inhibition, and the slip of their fetish quite unsurprisingly occurred that night. Damselfly wouldn’t have brought it up again if it wasn’t something she held intrigue for herself. The concept of going out and putting her partner’s very, very vital dignity on the line is what some may call a death warrant and what others may call respectively extreme. Turns out, Damselfly is of both categories, but also of a third—far more daunting—category. She would call such a concept _irresistible._

And that’s why she’s here.

She dragged her poor dearest out into the shivery cold in a bid to perhaps get nippingly close to them in the technical safety, but indubitable exposure, of the big outdoors. The forest at nightfall on a day like this was the perfect ploy. Nobody’s about at this time, and it’s so dark that people couldn't even try to make out what they’re doing. Plus, plenty of places to hide. At least, that’s the theory. Whether Dactory will buy into it is another matter entirely. She presses up to them, leaning lips in at a dangerous proximity.

"What do you think?" Her voice slides lower with each word, suggestion whispering into their ear, "Why would I want us to be alone?"

It just occurred to Dactory that they had actually asked a question before she swept them off their feet. Giggling at concepts perhaps far lighter than intended, they kiss her on the cheek.

"You wanted to be all sweet and sappy," they chirp, "but edgelord Damselfly can't be seen like that! Oh no no!"

Damselfly splutters unattractively at the quip, "Eww! Too edgy for that!"

They whine continuations of the joke like absolute retards, cackling at each other's increasing patheticness. When the mirth fades into a hug and affectionate noises, Damselfly decides to risk her actual proposition. She slips hands into theirs, fingers mingling softly.

"You said a while back you liked the idea of doing things outside the house."

"God!" Dactory scoffs, "Who made you think I was an outdoorsy person? You know all I do is stew away on the sofa with like six books and a cuppa."

"That's not what I meant," Damselfly pauses, calculating her words, "I mean something more the likes of…" she doesn't know how to put it. Instead, she brings fingertips to run the seam of Dactory's waistline apparel, tracing the curves of what's concealed beneath. Dactory steps back in shock.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Would I not now?" Damselfly taunts, "Why? Is fondling the Mastermind against the rules?"

"Damsel!" Dactory hisses, grabbing her hands and looking around frantically, "We can't do things in public!"

Damselfly lifts a hand to their lip, stroking gently to soothe the shake. Her voice goes fragile, but all the while suggestive, "I thought you said you liked it. Oh Dactory, come on, think about it," she walks them in a circle, confidence rebounding with each step, "There's nobody around, nobody needs to know," her hand settles firmly on their waist, "We're in a forest, one with the natural world," her other hand holds theirs up, "And you said you _adored_ the excitement, the unknown, the danger," she slides into a waltz, "You said even the _thought_ of it got you worked up."

"Yes yes, I _know,"_ Dactory follows the dance, the side where she touches them starts to feel uncomfortably warm. The reason for it unnerves them. Put it this way, their partner isn't wrong about their feelings on public indecency. Why, they see a beauty to it, to being on such raw display. It likens them to the wildlife seen in nature, to the indulgent animal deep inside. As Damselfly walks them in slow patterns across the trampled pathway, it becomes gradually more clear to them that resistance is futile. They meet defeat when a kiss is pressed on their neck.

"I'll keep you safe," Damselfly murmurs, "You're going to be okay."

Dactory holds onto those words. In a bid to seek the said sanctuary, their arms cling tightly around Damselfly's waist. She giggles at the unintended vulgarity of it.

"Come on, ya shitlark!" She chirps, detangling from their vice. She lets them hold her hand instead as she leads them through the woods. "I know a nice place."

And she certainly did.

If light could frolic over the clearing before them, such sharp cuts of grass would be called a meadow. Blackened in the twilight's prison, the swaying flowers are texture alone. No colour, just indescribably soft. Blind to their own beauty, they dance to the clip of the wind. With them the branches of edging trees wave, like beckoning suitors, dressed in the outfit of wolves. They hang in a predatorial loom.

Etched out in glassy contrast is the pond. The breeze strokes across its skin with a gentle hand, only willing to tease. Awestruck, Dactory approaches the water. Settled with approximation upon its plate is what could quite well be the universe. Glittering is the reflection of every star from above, beaming is the world of Plamyah. To check, Dactory looks up, and yes, the patchwork planet and starry splendor is indeed up there. But now, they have their very own piece of the sky down here with them. The chains of spacetime have fallen before them to show the roots of such beauty itself. The eyes of Dactory’s streamers splay, peering further and wider into the rippling sea of stars, curiosity delving deep into their being and obsessing their vision’s every point of entry. Space is enchanting, and when animated upon fluttering water, exquisitely attractive.

An abrupt splash tosses the stars into the air as Damselfly tramples her way into the water. She hisses at its shocking cold before whipping up a leg to twirl, giggling as she barely keeps balance. Her arms branch out on reflex and for a moment, she seems to fly on the sea breeze. Her normally draping arm attire is blown into wing-like pieces, loose thread flickering like tatters on flags. She seems to notice the effect as she regains balance, because she beats the wings just to see their sweep. Dactory watches as her tail uncurls, stretching to its impressively full length. They see the black and white waistline wrap exposed, the elegant wings held high in suspension, the dripping of the feathers wet around her ankles, they can even _feel_ the power of the lenses bared upon her streamers. Upon such inspection, Dactory can truly see why she was called Damselfly. She’s a creature of sight, fluidity and flight. A marvellous beast of refined figure and intellectual spiel. Why, she could strut her godlike stuff with the aggressive fangs of lust, and Dactory would still let her step over their very body.

If anything, they would want her to.

Chuckling at her own impulsivity, she steps out of the water. Perhaps Dactory didn’t quite realise how alluring their stare must’ve been, because the zealous kiss that lands on their lips certainly takes them by surprise. Arms wrap around them tightly, ensuring there is no escape. Damselfly rips away momentarily to breathe before deepening the kiss, tongue taunting venture. Reading into her intentions like all that fucking erotica they shamelessly devoured in the library, Dactory follows suite with a prowess that still manages to shock her. They slow down the kiss, drawing emphasis from every taste they take. But still, just as any creature, they’re alive and calamitous. And, Damselfly thinks as she takes a bite from their lip, all _hers_ for the taking. They mewl and pull away with a deliberate slowness, luring out every sliver of the pain.

Vaguely, it comes to their attention that they’re indulging in this masochistic sin on the outskirts of a forest, and despite the thought’s subtlety, its resonance is that of thunder. The succeeding rush of arousal is delayed, but so remarkably loud that it makes them stop in their tracks for a moment. Their breath comes out in one long huff as they clench themselves in a bid of reverence. The flutter of sensation takes them off guard and they move with it, urging closer to Damselfly in a rocking motion. She welcomes the invasion and lets her hands take them by their waist, gripping tightly. The press of her fingers coaxing further feeling and a seeping liquid they would normally be quite ashamed of. Especially out here. But apparently they’re slightly too caught up in the heat of it to care.

"God, and to think you call yourself a prude," Damselfly sneers, her desperation for more growls from its hiding place, "You can be the most sultry little bitch, can't you?"

As self-control begins to rewrite itself into an asymptote, Dactory lets out a noise. It echoes off the trees, fluttering into the open space of the meadow for a brief moment. It's answered by a shocked look from Damselfly. Suddenly shy, they bury their head into her scarf. From their little nest they feel a groan reverberating from her throat. She rests a hand on their cheek and lifts their eyes to hers.

"Do you like this?"

Dactory nods, and with it goes all of their pride.

Hands sliding down their body, Damselfly drops to her knees. With a gentle pull on their calves, she quells them down with her. Nestled in the grass the two kiss, mouths brought together in a dance of asking, questioning, wondering. Can they go further? Can she touch them? Neither answer with anything verbal, just frantic physicality. Dactory flops onto their back, pulling Damselfly over them. The grass first stabs, then they giggle as it bristles against their neck. They clasp both hands into Damselfly’s and she takes no hesitation in throwing them hard into the ground.

“Mine!” she hisses as she proceeds to mouth the skin between their neck and waist attire. She nibbles the woolen edges, hinting for permission of their discardance. Dactory huffs a sound of relieved approval, and soon she’s clawing underneath them to pick out the buttons. Falling into character, Damselfly is animalistic. Dactory’s clothes are taken as much as ripped off, tossed aside without looking. The wind slaps their skin with a vengeance and they can only cling when Damselfly leans down to warm them.

It’s at this point that the feeling of exposure truly sinks in. Not only is their behaviour suggestive, they are now physically bared before anything and everything that can see. On reflex, their breath quickens, and eyes swerve around in expectation of something that mortifies. In one smooth hush, Damselfly strokes their streamers to full length, lips against their throat. She kisses softly, aware of the fear breathing within. The effect is… hypnotic.

Trance, people call it, when the great shadow falls upon the sense of sight. Dactory closes their eyes. From the brush of their eyelashes a bird whispers free, taking their mind with it on a tapering string. The wingbeats are slow, flimsy feathers pulling through the syrup that starts to run down their spine. The colours of their mind ripple into clear-cut patterns, dancing their train of thought into a stupor. Nothing makes the foggiest bit of sense, but it just looks so pretty. They can _feel_ the concept of drifting, rising in a swirling waltz the way vapour sheds itself from a cup of tea, uncoordinated but so, so skin-thrummingly _hot._

The ground they lie on begins to feel less grounding, deliquescing in their mind. They don’t care. Hands are stroking over their waist, painting a sensation so far away that it feels almost alien. Their body doesn’t even seem to be attached, yet the way Damselfly is making them shudder betrays that. They purr, and she seems to hear it, because an unnervingly deep chuckle responds to it. Dactory can only imagine how powerful she must feel up there.

But they certainly know how _powerless_ they feel.

They're on fucking display. Though they can’t see it, the night sky is watching them. The trees are glaring, flowers staring, hills leering. Eyes must be somewhere, surely. Sod's Law, as they say. But for all that it’s exposing, it’s endearing. Oh surely _somebody_ must love the look of this. They arc backways, thrusting into Damselfly’s teasing touch, secretly begging that someone gawked at it. All four of their slits are uncovered in one swift stroke and God they weren’t ready for it. They squeak in shock at the new potency of sensation. Yes, it’s still frustratingly delicate, but now it's truly making them ache. Inside is pulsing, heavy, craving. Clenching only makes it worse. Writhing worse still. They want her to go in, and they want it now. They couldn’t care less about the sheer indignity of it. They’re already on display. May as well put on a fucking show!

“Damsel,” voice broken from desperation, they can only beg, “Please?”

“Please what?”

“Me.”

“Is that so?” Damselfly can’t resist herself, poking fun out of a Mastermind’s downfall is something she seems to find ridiculously erotic, “Why should I?”

Dactory can’t do words today. Please call later. They _can_ bite though, if so required. Teeth nip ahold of the tassels of her scarf, demanding her mercy. Instead, she laughs, fingertips tracing the very opening of each slit, with a caress so deliberately light it makes them want to scream. Her laugh derails into a cackle, then a growl that hovers over their neck.

“Now now, Dactory, are you going to be good?” her voice is stern, hands relentlessly continuing in their torment.

Not tonight. Dactory is reduced to panting, too impatient to beg. They can’t stop squirming, trying to better their position. All is in vain, however, because she moves with them. They groan in discontentment at her despicable cruelty. Oh how dare she!

“Oh sweetheart, keep this up and everyone’s going to hear you.”

Well fuck, Damselfly is clever. The remark rattles into them, burning into their flesh with something that isn’t quite pleasure, but isn’t quite embarrassment either. They still follow protocol, covering their face with their hands, but moan in a way that completely ruins the incentive. All the while, Damselfly still teases, driving them slowly but surely out of their mind. She grows ever more confident, in the way she toys with them, in the way she plants a kiss to their lips, in the way she asks: “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” Dactory doesn’t hesitate, even if their voice is clinically butchered, “I-I belong to you.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“You! You D-Damselfly!” She’s honestly such a bitch, but they’re too servile to care, “I belong to you!”

The cry resonates into the darkness of the forest and spill of the stars. They can barely believe they just yelled that. Sorry? Just _how_ out of control are they? Regardless, Damselfly thinks it’s beautiful, absolutely deserving of what it begs for in its implications.

There's a tremor in the pond as a hand slaps into it, a broken yelp cracking the swirled ceramic of the night. Damselfly captures her prey with a grip that can only speak one intent. Sex. Hard, pandemonious sex. A slick sound is complimented with a seemingly delighted gasp. It's followed by another, and her drawl of approval at it. Her victim is helpless, with their limbs draped uselessly across the grass, they completely subdue to the hands she's buried inside of them. She strokes through the sensitive flesh with ferocity, getting her teeth involved in the bodily restraint. She bites into their neck and they squeal.

Remember, this is in the middle of a forest. A completely accessible forest normally populated with pet-walkers, radical youths and berry pickers. If it had not been nightfall this could have quite well caused uproar. Dactory moans in relish as Damselfly finds somewhere _particularly_ nice inside them. She fingers a circle on the said spot, making them writhe against her and the stinging hot teeth she has around their neck. They practically purr in the haphazard snare, unable to control themself. The thought of actually being caught going at it out here is terrifying, especially when they're behaving this ridiculously. But the fear is exhilarating, making adrenaline cascade through them with a violence. It makes their skin flush, extremities pulse and their insides throb with every one of Damselfly's ministrations. It's ecstacy as it is, but they can feel it building and surging as fluidly as water. Slowly, they realise they absolutely could, and plausibly _will_ reach orgasm like this. Despite how daunting the idea of coming in public may be to them, right now, it's working too well in _making_ it happen. Oh they will surely regret this.

However, Damselfly is striving through them with purpose. She _wants_ them to come. As loudly and dramatically as she can make them. Deep down, she knows nothing bad will come of this, the woods are devoid from what she's seen. But it's a nice thought to imagine someone, somewhere, is witnessing her charming work. And perhaps enjoying it.

Through gritted teeth is a shittily stifled whine as Dactory begins to lose focus of the trees and stars around them. They can barely believe what’s happening. In a delirious glance they re-witness how outside and exposed they are, and everytime they think about it, everything spirals higher. This is the fantasy. It’s the thought that nips at them when they’re alone, the image they kept wishing Damselfly wouldn’t bring up, the disturbance in their dreams. It’s in all the best books they’ve read, it’s the catalyst of their desire and an absolutely failsafe way to get them off. This guilty pleasure has always been a curse, gnawing away at them while they did everything to retain their nobility. Sometimes the deprivation would even upset them, since nothing dignified could quite emulate the sensation of being so intimately on display. But tonight, this guilty, guilty pleasure is their blessing.

Tonight, they are safe in Damselfly’s indelicate grasp. Regardless of what might be out and about, she is here to hold and adore them. Please them for all that is pure, adorn them until they aren’t. Hearing her tenacious breath as the rest of the world slurs is enthralling, making them sink further into the grassy bedding that pricks along their skin. The smell of her, the grass, the pond and the wind; it's a sensory commotion bordering chaos, yet it’s so… perfect. The overwhelming splendor is making them dizzy, derailing them further into subservience under Damselfly’s thrilling reign. She kisses them softly, telling them how _good_ they’re being, and it’s felt right through their body.

The building wind-up within hits a new key, and they don’t quite comprehend it. All that’s thrown out of their quivering mouth in response is high whine. They can’t tell the ground from the sparkle of the stars. They can’t tell the rock of Damselfly’s arms from the sway of her ribboning eyes. It all becomes one entity. It becomes the world. Surrendering to the thought, Dactory feels themself fall into the liberating realm of the sky. Higher—a beat of wings—higher in their game of make-believe. Damselfly’s teeth grab ahold of their neck like her namesake’s claspers might, and she keeps them flying, carried on her invisible wings of glass. Dactory’s body coils into her, legs closing together in their desperation. Oh certainly, they may be scared of heights, but they can never have this stop.

_Never let me down._

_Never let me down._

Everything starts to curl around Damselfly’s fingers. Oh Dactory is _close,_ and the rise is relentless. They grip grass in one hand and simply clench the other, bracing for whatever the fuck this is going to turn into. The boiling heat inside trickles into every part of their body, making their hands buzz and spine quiver.

_Never let me down._

_Never let me down._

The orgasmic chills keep going still, and no throb of it can be stood for. They can’t even control their breathing anymore, it’s all clutching and interspersed gasps. The sensations become overwhelming and Dactory cries out. They’re too far gone. Body halfway down the rabbit hole, their eyes lock on the meadow in a fright. The grass towers over them, encasing them in a frame for all to see. Every tightness in their throat, every squirm and noise, every douse of pleasure. Over and over, it’s all on display. Their most private indulgences—their most guilty pleasure—all held out in the open, where eyes could wander their body and watch them lose control. Damselfly is that voyeur. Slowly, her vision licks the exhibition of such an unadulterated high, and it brings a smile to her face. A smile that sharply falls into focus, for it has something to say.

_See the stars, they’re shining bright, everything’s alright tonight._

_See the stars, they’re shining bright, everything’s alright tonight._

And under her sweetened beam, Dactory finds a comfort. Damselfly promises them sanctuary in this no man’s land, she offers them the most beautiful, most leathered kind of love. It tears out of her in the form of unbridled salacity, and the pleasure of it sweeps the rhythm right out of their heart. They can’t stop thinking about the way Damselfly touches them, the way she stares in awe, the way they’re in so much danger yet feel so safe under her gaze. They can’t stop thinking about how desperate they are, how desperate she’s made them, how good everything feels, how good this feels, oh God how good this feels—

_Never let me down._

Dactory crumbles, devolving into an orgasmic mess. They feel their very soul rend free and touch the apex of the night sky. They’re flying, truly soaring at the mercy of their lover. Every contraction floods them with an intoxicating flurry of pleasure that lingers sweetly where she touches them, and all is as it should be. She has brought them to the pinnacle of life’s meaning atop a pedestal of glass. She has absolute power. She has them coming undone beneath her. She has them on display. The world, if it wanted to, could watch them lose every sliver of their reputation. And, for all they know, it could be doing just that. But held here, overwhelmed by pleasure and moving only by instinct, Dactory wouldn’t mind one bit. In fact, they would love it. They would _love_ it.

_Never let me down._


End file.
